It’s been a week since I last blogged. I haven’t been away visiting far-flung shores, or doing anything exciting. Mostly, I’ve been recovering from being sick and throwing myself a week-long pity party. I finally decided to simply write about how I was feeling. That’s what writers do, right? We write?

So here it is. I hope someone out there can relate.

My Name

They call my name all day long
But it’s not my name they’re calling
It’s another name I answer to
Inherited like jewellery
From the woman who once owned it
And wore it like a badge

And all my friends are writing books
And singing songs
And making art
And planning shows
And writing words
And following their hearts

While I’m just sitting here and crying
Struggling to find the time
To sit and write a stupid rhyme
Explaining how I’m feeling

And when I stop and look at me
I’m not the girl I want to see
I’m not the girl I thought I’d be
When I was young and getting older

I don’t know who this person is
This person in the mirror
With meals to cook and bills to pay
Cooking and cleaning every day
And there’s never any minutes left
For me

Just me
My dreams and goals and plans and thoughts and feelings and emotions

But I don’t hate it when I hate it
Even when I hate it
I love my kids
I love my life
I love my husband and being a wife

I just don’t love
This me
This lonely empty quiet me
Who doesn’t live but smiles and smiles
Just to show she’s happy

And every time I clap my hands
Another fairy dies

And there’s never enough money
So my dreams all stay unspoken
And when we buy four chocolate bars
Mine’s the one that’s broken

But it’s not all bad
I love my life
I love my kids and being a wife
I love my husband
He loves me
He loves to see me feeling happy

He feels happy when I’m happy
And sad when I am sad
Because everything I do is special
And that should make me glad

But it doesn’t
I wish he’d stop
It’s too much fucking pressure

And I know my dreams aren’t really dead
They’re sleeping underground
Like flowers in the winter
And old men in the rain
But what if when the sun comes out
They can’t get up again?

What if everything I’ve dreamed and hoped
Is gone
And won’t come back
And when I die they bury me
In a tomb
And mark it
Mum

After writing this, I happened across a great post by Liz Michalski titled Run Your Own Race. It helped.

After reading your recent progress updates, that doesn’t come as a surprise. If you didn’t click through the link at the bottom of the post, I’d recommend it. I found it quite helpful to get some perspective.

About the Author

Jo Eberhardt is a writer of speculative fiction, mother to two adorable boys, and lover of words and stories. She lives in rural Queensland, Australia, and spends her non-writing time worrying that the neighbour's cows will one day succeed in sneaking into her yard and eating everything in her vegie garden.

Join her as she blogs about reading, writing, motherhood, and living the simple life.